


Field Reports

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Dragon Age Origins Verse [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair Smut, Awkward Romance, Blushing Alistair (Dragon Age), Cute Alistair, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, POV Alistair, Romance, Sexy Alistair (Dragon Age), Smut, Warden Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Alistair writes another letter to Amodisia.





	Field Reports

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/28101565309/in/album-72157662981371817/)

_I like you._

No. Maker, no, how pathetic? They had discussed that topic weeks ago. Alistair crumpled the parchment and tossed it over his shoulder, landing in the far corner of his tent.

_You’re beautiful._

Better. But insufficient at best, and another crumpled page of parchment joined its companions.

 _Your voice puts angels to shame_.

Cliché, but not bad. And yet, Alistair tossed the ball of parchment in with its brethren. He had to tell her. He owed her that much, his respect for her beyond measure.

_I love you, Amodisia. Your brilliant mind never ceases to amaze me. I stand in awe of your magical prowess. Your flowing brown hair and shining emerald eyes enthralled me the moment we met. You, all of you, enrapture me so, I am yours._

Perfect. At least, he hoped. His practice over the last fortnight had served him well, Amodisia teaching him, guiding him, so willing to read anything he wrote. Most often, he expressed his helplessness in their situation, or his guilt for her sudden involvement. Ever pragmatic, she returned with advice, never a quick fix or solution, but words of comfort and solace and sympathy.

But this letter? Andraste preserve him, this letter asked of her the impossible.

Resigned, Alistair crawled from his tent, letter in hand, and approached the campfire. There, Amodisia sat alone but for Ser Barksalot, her Mabari, with his head in her lap and fast asleep. At such a late hour, their companions had found their tents in dire need of rest after a hard day of grueling travel.

Over her shoulder she turned, a toothy smile parting her lips at the sight of him. And in that moment, Alistair hesitated, one step shuffling in the dirt. What if she never smiled at him like that again? What if the letter ruined their friendship?

No. Impossible. She had kissed him back. Though impulsive, Alistair regretted not for one second acting on his feelings that night all those weeks ago. Why avoid it any longer? The memory flashed before his eyes, Amodisia in his lap, arms encircling one another and lips meeting for a tender kiss. Her breathless moan, his aching sigh, and Maker, the clawing of her fingers at the nape of his neck.

And yet, he balked.

“Alistair, is something wrong?”

Barksalot lay alone beside the fire and Amodisia stood not a foot in front of him, his focus returning to her in a dizzying rush. For a moment, he stared, drinking her in, all five feet of her tiny frame and a tentative hand reaching for him. With a shake of his head, Alistair motioned to the fire, distrusting his tongue to find the proper words. And bless her heart, she followed without question.

Seated by the fire, Alistair clenched his fist around the tiny parchment, matted by the sweat in his palms. He prayed the ink had dried, but the mere possibility of handing her a smudged message dashed his hopes to tiny pieces. In the morning, he would rewrite the letter and give it to her after they struck camp, where neither need speak of it until they found a private moment in Denerim.

“What’s in your hand?”

 _Shit_.

“Ali?” Her healing touch smoothed his thigh. “What is that?”

Against his will, Alistair opened his hand revealing the letter. The parchment stuck to his fingers, coiling from the light like a frightened pill bug.

“A letter.” He pealed it from his palm. “Although, I’m not sure it survived the trip. But it’s for you.”

She took it from his outstretched hand and, with gentle fingers, pried apart the careful folds. Aloud she read for them.

“Dear Amodisia,” she began, “I love you.”

A sinking dread filled his stomach as her eyes snapped to his, smile disappearing in a single heartbeat. And his thumped against his ribs as if to escape, so loud he feared she heard it. With a hard swallow, he nodded to her, urging her to continue reading.

“Your brilliant mind never ceases to amaze me,” she continued, though softer, nigh but a whisper. “I stand in awe of your magical prowess. Your flowing brown hair and shining emerald eyes enthralled me the moment we met.”

She faltered, voice catching in her throat with a quiver and lips pursed to naught but a thin line. For what did she search in the fire, her eyes sliding aside and staring for a moment lasting an eternity. In that unknown, in that uncertainty, Alistair resisted the urge to scream.

Without looking back to the letter, she finished. “You, all of you, enrapture me so, I am yours.”

Alistair stood, unable to bear her rejection. But before he took a step, Amodisia grasped his hand and stood with him.

“Do you mean it?”

His fingers smoothed hers, thumb caressing her skin. “With every fiber of my being.”

Another long moment stretched beyond uncomfortable, the sickening bile of his stomach churning to the back of his throat.

“Can I come with you?”

Her eyes darted to his tent, then returned to him with a quirk of her brow. He mimicked her, considering his tent a moment. “Come with me where? My _tent_?”

She giggled a laugh, and, as if with the cleansing flames of Andraste herself, she answered his prayers.

“Yes, your tent, Alistair. I want to sleep with you.”

He looked to his tent once more, disbelieving his ears. “Sleep with me? Like, beside me? Or…”

Tension seeped from his shoulders as he sucked in a full breath for the first time in hours. Her nearness enveloped him, bodies flush, and Alistair sighed in the wake of her presence. Impulse drove him, arms encircling Amodisia as her hands smoothed his tunic to rest at the nape of his neck.

“I think you know what I mean.”

Alistair opened his mouth, another witty jest avoiding the topic prepared, but the soft roll of her hips drew naught but a moan from his lips. He prayed to the Maker their friends had not heard him, but then Amodisia’s own sigh of desire slipped free, and Alistair reacted without hesitation.

His lips crushed hers in a fierce kiss, swallowing her every moan until she melted in his arms. Her fingers grasped at his tunic, tugging him closer, but Alistair dared not trust his senses. With all his willpower, he parted from Amodisia despite his body screaming in protest.

Wide eyes and gaping lips stared up at him, brow knotted and the light in her brilliant green eyes fading. “Is everything alright?”

“I’ve…”

 _Son of a bitch, Theirin, just tell her_.

“What’s wrong, Ali—"

“I’m a virgin.”

As feared, Amodisia recoiled, her hands snatched from his shirt and straining against his embrace. He released her despite every muscle in his body aching with want, but she moved no further than to consider him with her confused stare.

“So?” she asked. “I am, too, but I read a book or two in Kinloch.”

“A book or two?”

For the first time, Alistair saw pink racing across Amodisia’s cheeks as she avoided his gaze. “Maybe ten.”

Alistair’s jaw dropped. “ _Ten?!_ Ten books? About… _that?!_ ”

No prayer compared to the soothing song of Amodisia’s girlish giggle. “I can show you a few things I remember.” Her whispers filled his ears as her body returned to his, and Alistair startled as the flat of her palm smoothed over the bulge in his breeches. “There’s one in particular I’m curious about. I’d be surprised if my mouth could—hey!”

Faster than a mountain cat, Alistair hefted Amodisia, his hands grasping her backside and her legs wrapping around his hips. To his tent he carried her, flicking the flap aside and plunging the two of them into darkness.

“What was that about your mouth now?”

Amodisia hummed another laugh through her nose. “If you light a candle, I might show you.”

Her boots thumped to the hard-packed earth as Alistair set her on her feet, loathe to be parted from her but eager for more of her devious thoughts. “Tell me more while I try to find the candle?”

“Well,” she began, “Apparently, it’s possible to arouse a man with one’s mouth.”

A thunderous clamor echoed through the camp as Alistair tripped over his own feet, tangled in his bedroll.

“Are you okay?”

Alistair grunted as he untangled his boots. “Fine. A little lightheaded. But fine.”

“Oh,” Amodisia quipped with a giggle. “Lightheaded. A redirect of blood flow can do that.”

 _There_. With striking rock and candle in hand, Alistair illuminated the tent in an orange glow. He turned to find Amodisia kneeling on his bedroll, gloves and boots removed and blue tunic gaping to reveal her ample cleavage.

Between his thighs, a heavy flex of his groin stiffened his manhood to full attention, and a fresh wave of dizzying arousal tipped the world askew. And then Amodisia crawled to him, covering the space between them on her hands and knees until she straddled his lap.

Another _redirect_ _of blood flow_ spun his head as inches from his face her exposed flesh heaved, and Alistair resisted the urge to grasp her without asking.

“Sia,” he whispered as she unfastened the buckles of his breastplate. “What am I… er, what would you like me to do?”

Pieces of his armor followed, pauldrons and gauntlets tossed aside, thumping in the dirt. “Anything you want.”

Buttons called out to him, singing his name and begging for release. For freedom from the strain at her breasts. Tentative fingers reached for the first button and, with a deft flick, Alistair released the fabric, her heavy breasts threatening to spill free.

With his armor removed, Amodisia unbuckled his belt, but he paid her no mind. Transfixed, his eyes remained focused on her breasts, each movement echoing in her supple flesh. And then she froze, still as stone, his breeches unlace and erection peaking through his smalls.

In his massive hands, Alistair had grasped her breasts. But try as he might, the conscious decision to touch her— _there_ —escaped him.

“You can take my tunic off, you know.” Her coy smile faded when her eyes found his. “Is this… are you okay?”

His jaw worked, searching for the words but too few found his mouth. “I’m… more than okay.” His fingers worked at the remaining buttons, eager to rid them of the fabric. With the final button undone, Alistair stared with reverent eyes, as if in the presence of a sacred being. And in a way, he thought, he was. Though he had only known a few women in his life, the beauty of Amodisia–her mind, her spirit, her overwhelming presence–outshined them all. Why in the Maker’s good name did she love him?

“Ali?”

Roused, her cool fingertips on his cheek focused his spinning mind, drawing his attention to her face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

A vigorous nod sufficed, for Amodisia giggled a short hum through her nose. Without another word, she discarded her top, then reached between her shoulders for the knot of her breastband. Her nose scrunched as she struggled, and for a moment, Alistair had half a mind to let her keep struggling but the ache between his thighs seized control, wits abandoned for instinct.

She gasped a short moan as Alistair embraced her, arms encircling her to aid. With deft fingers, the knot parted, releasing its hold as she unraveled the folds. The band fell to her lap in a loose heap, and the world lurched to a halt.

Dark nipples stiffened in the cool night air, taut buds beckoning him, begging for his touch, his tongue. And he acquiesced, his desire to taste her flesh overwhelming. Another whispered moan met his ears as he cupped one heavy breast, lifting to parted lips that sealed around the taut bud.

Amodisia’s gasp filled the tent, muscles of her back rippling beneath his fingers as she arched. And Alistair moaned with her, relishing the sweetness of her flesh, no desert comparing. With one swipe of his tongue, Alistair unraveled them both, Amodisia tugging free of his lips with a lewd sucking, slurp.

The rise and fall of her heaving chest commanded his attention, enthralled by the mesmerizing undulation of her breasts. Seconds or minutes, Alistair cared not one wit how long he stared, for praying at her alter served his every need.

“Maker, but you are beautiful.”

Another of her girlish giggles filled his ears, but the moment last not a second longer as Amodisia unlaced her leggings in a swift tug and kicked off her boots. She stood then, towering above him with a deviant grin as she tugged her pants over her hips and over her backside. At her ankles, she stepped from the garment, kicking it aside, and Alistair marveled at her vulnerable trust, completely bare.

For him.

He tore his tunic off, tossing it aside in eager haste, and Amodisia jumped into action, peeling his breeches to his knees. Alistair kicked free of his boots and wriggled from his pants, leaving him in nothing but his smalls, erection painful against the restrictive fabric. An involuntary twitch enraptured the woman straddling his lap, her wide eyes and parted lips lingering but for a moment.

“Want me to show you what I remember from my study?”

Apoplectic with shock, Alistair gaped like a fish out of water. “Your mouth?”

Without a reply, the flat of her palm scorched a path up his cock, smoothing from base to tip, and Alistair whimpered a cry so pathetic, his cheeks stung.

“I love that sound,” Amodisia hummed as her fingers hooked into his smalls. “Your moans have… you’ll soon feel how they’ve aroused me.”

She allowed no opportunity for a response, his cock springing free as she wrenched away his smalls. Cool night air met heated skin, and Alistair sucked a breath through gritted teeth, exposed before a woman for the first time.

When nothing happened, he looked to Amodisia to find her staring. “It’s huge.”

“I thought you said you were a virgin.”

Amodisia shook her head with a small smile. “The books had… diagrams. Images to help explain the… positions.”

 _Images? Positions?!_ How did any of the Templars get any work done with _books_ like that lying around?

“And I’m… bigger than those images?”

She nodded a vigorous shake of her head. “Much.” Cool fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and Alistair jumped at the sudden contact. “I still don’t think this will work, but…” The smooth skin of her breasts met his bare thighs as Amodisia bent at the hips, firm grip holding his erection at attention.

Pale lips met the swollen tip and Alistair grasped his bedroll in tight fists, his first instinct to recoil. But as the warmth her mouth enveloped the crown of his cock, he collapsed, thighs flexing and hips bucking. Another inch slipped past her lips, and Amodisia moaned a sound so wanton, Alistair wrenched her back by her hair grasped at the nape of her neck.

“Alistair!” She grinned her impish grin. “I thought you said you were a virgin.”

“I am!”

“Then why are you pulling my hair while I suck your cock?”

Maker, that was a _thing_ people did? And she _liked_ it?!

“I had to stop you,” he stated. “I… want to feel you.”

“You have.” Amodisia frowned as he released her hair.

“I want to feel you. Inside.”

Emerald eyes alight with lust widened as she crawled to him, her core nearing his length. “I want to feel you inside me, too.”

Once more, the scalding touch of her breasts met his flesh, squeezing against his chest as she leaned in for a kiss. Dizzy with arousal, Alistair thrived on that kiss, focused and eager for more. But that focus distracted him until the sopping silken folds of Amodisia’s sex enveloped him, the crown slipping inside, and Alistair gasped against her lips.

Inch by inch, Amodisia eased to his hips, taking him in until sheathed to the hilt. Parted, her own whimpers, benedictions and prayers and _Oh, Maker, this is amazing_ and _Fuck, you’re so big_ filled his ears and pride. And then her hips shifted, rising and falling, stroking his length with her cunt.

“Ali,” she breathed, “is this good?”

A deep growl served his response, grasping her hips to hold her still. “Slow down.”

She smiled a sheepish smile, dark brown falling over her shoulders as she atop him. “Sorry. This feels really good, I can’t help it.”

With her seated so, Alistair had full view of her–of his cock between her lips, her flexing thighs and hips, her flexing stomach, and those amazing breasts as they swayed with each of her thrusts.

“Never mind then,” he excused. “Keep going. I’m… not going to last much longer, if that’s okay.”

Another flash of excitement brightened her smile, and without delay, Amodisia _rode_ him. Not the slow, tiny stroke with which she had started. But fast, as if she were ahorse, galloping like the wind. And Maker’s breath, those thrusts stroking his cock, her bouncing breasts, and her breathless moans unraveled his orgasm in seconds.

Release unlike any he had felt before burst at the seams, hard flexes of his cock spurting his seed into her. Amodisia arched her back, her thrusts jerking to a halt as her own keening sigh sang with his, and a strong squeeze of her walls extracted another load of his fluids from his length.

And then the wash of euphoria, of weightless, guilt-free pleasure consumed him, smothered by Amodisia collapsing atop him. Sticky with sweat, they clung to each other, breathless gasps and tender lips meeting again and again.

“Will you stay in my tent tonight?”

Amodisia regarded him in the candlelight. “And face the party tomorrow as I emerge from it? I think not.”

He chuckled at that. “Sia, darling, I’m quite sure everyone heard everything.”

Even in the dim light, he saw her embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Alright, Ali. I’ll stay.”


End file.
